


Breaking

by Iocane



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Adult Themes, Canon minor character death before story, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Geek/Goon, Generally coping with the events of the Defiant One, Hurt/Comfort, Imported, Lashing Out, M/M, McKay is vicious when he's angry, h/c, old story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-18
Updated: 2016-03-18
Packaged: 2018-05-27 12:03:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6283792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iocane/pseuds/Iocane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone has their limits.</p>
<p>Takes place in the aftermath of The Defiant One.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breaking

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my betamuse, Oran, who clued me into SGA and to my betas Laryn and Marie who both made this far better than it started.
> 
> ((This was written some ten years ago, and is part of my consolidation migration. I have not re-read it since that time, so there may be errors.))

"Don't confuse strength with pride and mud.  
I have a faith in love that's thicker than all bread and blood."  
\-- Air Supply, "Bread and Blood"  
  
~*~  
  
Rodney wasn't entirely sure how he had made it out of the Wraith ship, or how he had come to empty his gun into the Wraith. He knew it had happened and if he thought hard enough, he could trace his path from Gall's body to the dune behind the Wraith.  
  
But he didn't want to think. Not about Gall or Abrams, or anything, really. Rodney just wanted to shut down, to stop hurting. To stop *being*. But Sheppard wouldn't let him. First, he had to get the shield down so they could fly off this godforsaken rock.  
  
In a way, he was thankful. Working on the tiny remote's insides focused his mind. For a short time, he was able to think of crystals and circuits, laser and transmitter. Not about spattered brains, lifeless eyes and words spoken in a unnaturally old voice. He was vaguely aware of John moving away and berated himself for missing the major's comforting presence. They were stupid, his feelings for Sheppard, but he had come to grips with them some time ago. Still, when John was closer, Rodney felt a little more at ease, even after so much death and pain.  
  
In the same time it took Rodney to fix the ship, Ford's team took care of loading Gall and Abrams' bodies onto the second Jumper.  
  
Once they were in the air again, Rodney's attention was focused on trying to fly them back. Rodney's normally lackluster flying skills were now hampered by his shattered emotional state. He gripped the controls so tightly his wrists hurt, but the pain sharpened his mind.  
  
For an hour, Rodney could hear Sheppard's quiet movements in the rear compartment as he cleaned up the Wraith mess. Rodney found himself wishing the other man would talk – if only to keep Gall's final words from echoing in his mind. _'Save the day'._  
  
An hour into the flight, Sheppard wanted him to fix the jumper crystals.  
  
"Fine." It was the only word he could muster, and he couldn't look at Sheppard as he spoke. Rodney didn't want his friend and commander to see just how close he was to coming apart at the seams. He lingered in the cockpit a moment, stripping off the field vest to catch another brief moment in Sheppard's comforting presence before skulking into the rear compartment.  
  
Once again, Rodney allowed the technical side of his mind to take over. His fingers stopped shaking as he began manipulating crystals and control rods. The last time he'd stood like this, Sheppard had lain dying nearby. Rodney found himself constantly checking the pilot seat to make sure Sheppard was alive. Once again, his mind seemed to separate into two parts. The part that worked the crystals was active, quick. The rest of him shut down and went to sleep, not wanting to wake up. Ever. Whenever Rodney tried to coax himself out, he saw Gall, blood and gray matter plastered on the wall of the ship and dribbling down his face.  
  
Re-setting the controls took Rodney only an hour, but he drew it out by triple checking everything, letting his mind run away with him as long as he could before even his most obsessive side decided it was enough. They were almost a third of the way home by the time Rodney finally finished.  
  
"Good job," Sheppard said as Rodney sat down. The words made him feel hollow. Whether Sheppard meant fixing the shuttle or saving him from the Wraith, it meant nothing right now. Whatever happened today had cost them two lives. Two good ones, if Rodney were honest. For all his general derision, none of the scientists on Atlantis would be there if Rodney didn't feel they had something to offer. Even Kavanagh.  
  
John occasionally tried to talk to Rodney, to reassure him, but it didn't take. Rodney would make some response which held neither venom nor humor, then slide back into his own mind. Already he could feel himself shaking as the numbness began to fade, replaced by a physical feeling of illness.  
  
Eight hours into the flight, John once again gave Rodney the jumper controls, after making sure the other man had eaten something. Rodney could see the other jumper not far ahead of them and his whole body tensed as he remembered that Gall's remains were aboard. His wrists once again throbbed at how tight he gripped the controls. Rodney was so intent on not thinking that he didn't notice Sheppard's lack of corrections.  
  
On Atlantis, Rodney sat stone still during the medical exam, not arguing or chatting with Carson. He was instructed to sleep and given the following day off except for the full debriefing in the afternoon. For both John and Rodney it would be the first chance to sleep in close to fifty hours. John gave Weir the quick-and-dirty story before making his way to the infirmary. On his way out, Rodney spied a pair of covered gurneys in the morgue section of the infirmary and he knew just what they were. He didn't know how long he stood there, fighting for control as the memories took hold. _'Save the day.'_  
  
"Rodney? Are y'alright?"  
  
Rodney tried not to jump out of his skin at Beckett's quiet question. "I'm fine. I'll just be getting to my quarters."  
  
"Alright. If you need anything to help you sleep..."  
  
Rodney could sense Carson's concern but it didn't seem to effect him. Right now, he just wanted to get away. His body felt like a windup toy on its last turn, everything was getting slower and thicker, even the physical buzz of prolonged sleeplessness was fading. "Thanks," he finally answered. "If I need anything, I'll call."  
  
As he made his way through the corridors of Atlantis, Rodney thought he could feel every pair of eyes on him. Two scientists were dead after a mission with him. He could hear the murmurs, certain he was being blamed. Both men had been well liked – far better liked than he. Rodney had toyed with the idea of stopping to get something to eat – part of his weakness was his general lack of sustenance during their time on the planet and the trip back. He'd eaten half the powerbar that Sheppard had put into his hand, but that was all.  
  
Before he got to the mess hall, Rodney spun around and headed back to his room. He didn't want to sit around and hear the whispers and echoes; conversations stopping too quickly as he drew near; everyone blaming him for the loss of Gall and Abrams.  
  
Rodney sat heavily on his bed, feeling his body tremble. There was nothing left. No task or person to demand his attention. No jumper to fix or fly, no John, no Carson. Just Rodney and his own horrific memories.  
  
Once he allowed himself to slip, to fully remember what had happened, Rodney's body went into overload. He had worked up a case of nerves and fear to the point where he found himself kneeling in the bathroom of his quarters, getting rid of that half-eaten powerbar.  
  
_'Save the day.'_  
  
Rodney heard that quiet, aged voice again. His stomach heaved; bile, the last of the powerbar and what little water he'd sipped landing in the small Atlantean toilet. A trembling hand reached for the cleaning button and sonic waves took care of the vomit. Somehow, the sonic cleaning system never got to the smell, but Rodney suspected that was in his head.  
  
"McKay?" Sheppard's clear, too-fucking-calm voice came over Rodney's link.  
  
"What is it, Major?" Rodney snapped, hoping John would assume the rasp in his voice was from sleep deprivation and not the soreness in his throat.  
  
"Wondering if you had time to talk."  
  
"Not really," he barked. This time he tugged the link off as he leaned forward again, stomach too empty now to eject anything and his abdomen beginning to ache from the heaving. When he finished, he put the link back over his ear.  
  
"-Kay? Are you alright?" John had been speaking the whole time. His voice was still the same 'aw, shucks' calm that Rodney found in turns annoying and comforting.  
  
"I'm fine. Is there some matter of pressing urgency I don't *already* know about?" Rodney wanted nothing more than to be left alone right now but at the same time, he dreaded that aloneness more than he dreaded the Wraith. With other people, even if they blamed him, he still had company outside of his own mind. And John's presence had been almost soothing on the trip back; even if Rodney had hated it at the time.  
  
"Yeah, actually, there is. Can I come in?"  
  
Oh hell. Rodney took several deep breaths. "Fine. I suppose getting some doctor ordered sleep and fixing the city can wait, for both of us." As he stood on shaky knees Rodney wished, not for the first time, that the Atlanteans still used *water* for bathing instead of sonics. His shirt showed a few dribbles from the first unexpected heave.  
  
"So can I come in?" It almost surprised Rodney that his door hadn't opened already – everything in Atlantis seemed to open quite readily for the American.  
  
"Just a moment," Rodney barked, yanking his shirt off. He was tossing through bags for something clean, not wanting to open the door shirtless. He found his mouthwash, then tugged the fresh shirt on. Finally, he wiped his face with a bit of water from his canteen, hoping to wash away the sweat. His movements felt slow and heavy with exhaustion.  
  
"Getting ready for a date there, Rodney?" John raised an eyebrow at the physicist's appearance – fresh shirt, mouthwash and cleaned face. Rodney realized what his efforts might look like. Then he saw John's expression change as he noticed how pale Rodney was, the tremor in his hands. John must also have noticed the red-rimmed eyes, the rawness in Rodney's voice. Rodney wondered if his mind was playing tricks on him or if John's hazel eyes really had flashed with a spark of jealousy at the idea of Rodney getting ready for a date.  
  
"What? No! Was there something you needed, Major?" Rodney tried to present his best 'go away' face, hoping to get rid of the other man.  
  
"Yeah." John brushed into the room, forcing Rodney to step aside. The door closed automatically behind him.  
  
"Well?" Rodney knew he had that slightly frightened rabbit look he sometimes wore, but was too exhausted to try to stop it.  
  
"You did good out there, today." He'd said as much on the flight back, several times.  
  
Rodney felt an unexpected swell of anger at that – how many times was John going to 'attaboy' him about what happened? "Oh, yes. One Wraith and two scientists dead. Good for me. You know basic math, Major. Tell me how well those numbers really add up." Rodney's stomach roiled and he felt the unfamiliar urge to hit the man for bringing up the events of their mission. He still saw Gall, lying against the wall of the crashed Wraith ship, gun in his limp hand. The gun Rodney had given him. The gun that part of Rodney had known he would use in the manner he had. The smartest man in two galaxies – how could Rodney *not* have known what the end result would be? The thoughts had played over and over during the flight back. Gall could barely move his fingers, how the hell would a gun help him do anything but what he'd done?  
  
"Rodney." John's voice was quiet and Rodney thought the man was going to try and soothe away the anger that had been growing in him since he heard that fateful gunshot. John pressing the issue was bringing Rodney's anger to the fore.  
  
"Gall shot himself," Rodney snarled. "With the gun I put in his hand." He found himself stepping closer, pressing into John's personal space, as if to bring his own anger closer to the major. "The gun you told me to give him. You *knew* what he would do. 'Stick a gun in his hand, just in case I don't come back.'" Rodney parroted. "And I let myself believe it was for self-defense." Rodney's voice had an edge of cold rage – nothing like the loud, arrogant anger he'd directed at Kolya. "Next time, Major, stick around and do the job yourself." The words came slowly but there was a helplessness to them and Rodney couldn't bring himself to draw back now. "You've done it before. What made Sumner so much more deserving of a bullet than Gall?"  
  
Rodney had just enough time to register the look of shock, hurt and anger that flashed over the major's face before his stomach lost control. Nausea overcoming all sense of dignity, he pushed past John in his rush to the toilet  
  
To his astonishment, Rodney felt a strong hand at his back as he fell to his knees, clutching the bowl. John was speaking but Rodney was too lost to make out the words. He trembled on the floor, feeling himself sweat again, John's hand oddly comforting.  
  
When he lifted his face Rodney expected to see anger, disgust, disappointment. Certainly not the concern he glimpsed in the major's eyes. Still, his stomach empty for the moment, Rodney's anger began to return, though it was rendered momentarily impotent by his weakened body. "I suppose this is why scientists don't usually do this sort of thing," he growled, hating himself and his reaction to something John, Ford and Teyla had faced far more often.  
  
Rodney turned away automatically when John reached a wet washcloth to his face, but acquiesced when he persisted. Shame reddened his pale face, both at his physical reaction and his harsh words, but he was too tired now to resist the apparent kindness or even consider an apology. "This going to happen every time?" he asked weakly, needing and hating the answer.  
  
"No." John offered him a sip of water, to rinse, then made him drink slowly. He disposed of the contents of the shallow Atlantean toilet. "That's the worst part of it – when you realize it doesn't make you ill anymore."  
  
Rodney sat in silence for a while, not looking at the major, not looking anywhere but inward. He tried to recall Gall as he had been before – talking about the Lagrangian Point Satellite, striking out when he asked Miko on a date - with a joviality that Rodney hated himself for envying in him, - leaning over a laptop talking at high speed with Radek. But every time he did, all he could see was Gall at sixty. Dead eyes opened in the shock of his own actions, blood oozing down his head, gun in his limp hand. "He did it because of me," he finally rasped, dragging red-rimmed blue eyes up to the major's face.  
  
John just lifted a patient eyebrow, as if knowing Rodney needed to talk this out for himself, to say what needed saying.  
  
"I ... we could hear some of what was going on ... explosions, gunfire ... I ... was trying to get the feeling back in his hands, he could move his fingers a little." Rodney lifted his hand, fingers uncurling slowly as Gall's had done. Dimly, Rodney knew John knew or guessed what had happened but once the words began he couldn't stop them. "I ... I wanted to go, to help you but ... I couldn't leave him. I wouldn't leave him behind. But there wasn't anything I could do for him, not anymore. He said he was getting weaker. I gave him the gun, like you said, as soon as he could hold it. I was going to go to you but, I couldn't let myself leave him ... Part of me knew you'd be fine, at least I hoped you would be. I don't even know why I gave him the gun, he could barely lift his arm. I know you told me to but, he wasn't that strong, really. He told me to go. He said he could tell how much I needed to go to you to help, and told me to go. He told me to save the day." Rodney didn't even feel the warm tears sliding down his face as he spoke. "He seemed to be getting better, he ... he was talking and ... I'd told him to shut up so I could think and I thought he was dead but he just ... shut up. So I made him talk again," Rodney was again caught in his own jumbled, confused mental loop of what had happened. His mind played their conversation over, speaking half of it, muttering parts.  
  
John finally moved in close, slowly so as not to startle the other man. Shifting to his knees, he slid an arm around Rodney's shoulders, drawing the man against his chest, a strong hand rubbing Rodney's back as he rocked.  
  
Once Rodney realized what was happening, he stiffened, trying to pull away. He found himself weakened by his physical fatigue and emotional state. "It's going to be alright," John murmured, his other hand brushing over Rodney's hair, tucking his head closer.  
  
Rodney eventually gave in and wept against John's neck. The tears let out everything he couldn't find a way to actually feel, let alone say. "I've got you, Rodney, it'll be alright," John murmured, wanting to soothe the man in his arms as much as he could.  
  
Rodney shook his head, but he couldn't find the words or strength to protest. His weeping had subsided but he still shook a little and felt too weak to try to break free of the major's hold. He figured the other man couldn't think any less of him now, so he'd take the contact while he could get it. He suspected he'd be off the team by morning, anyway.  
  
John's voice was so soft when he began speaking, Rodney almost missed the first few words. "... in Afghanistan for about a week. I was there as a pilot, but I had to get to a grounded chopper while under fire. It was being used as a temporary gunner's nest by the enemy. I was pinned behind a truck with another man, James Halloway. I didn't know him – he was just the guy helping me get to the chopper. I could see a way to get to it, we could have done it, but ... he didn't want to wait. James decided to draw the fire, so I could make a run for it. He got himself shot to pieces and I couldn't manage to make the break he wanted – there never was one. Once I was back on base, I spent the next twenty-four hours throwing up, and the next month washing his brains out of my hair."  
  
Though he wasn't used to touchy feely emotions, Rodney wasn't entirely stupid about them. He didn't think the major spun that story for just anyone and felt both ashamed and touched at hearing it. He said nothing, now, still leaning against John. Rodney realized his hands weren't trembling and he wanted a sip of water. He lifted his hand, not wanting to burden the major any further, which even in this state Rodney recognized as an odd thought.  
  
"Here, I've got it," John held the canteen to Rodney's lips. "Come on, let's get you up." Standing slowly, John supported Rodney, keeping the man steady. Rodney recognized the appraising look on John's face as the other man supported him. He saw it often - John was checking Rodney's physical state, gauging whether he should call the infirmary or not. When his hand didn't rise to his radio, Rodney decided he was 'safe.' In spite of his tendency towards hypochondria, the scientist wasn't inclined to call Beckett right now either.  
  
"You don't have to do this, Major," Rodney protested, his voice still sore but getting a little stronger. He still saw Gall if he blinked, but it wasn't as vivid and didn't have the same staggering effect.  
  
"Yeah, I do." There was a softer tone to his voice now, not the same steely calm Rodney was used to. "Lay down." John helped Rodney onto his bed, pulling the covers aside then unlacing and removing the man's shoes.  
  
"You need to sleep, Rodney."  
  
"No, really, I'm fine." He wasn't, but now that he felt a little better his ego and shame were returning and he didn't want to annoy Sheppard anymore.  
  
"I'm sure you are, Rodney." John's eyes twinkled as he tugged Rodney's shoes off, then picked up the covers to flick them over the other man. "You need to sleep, alright? You had a hell of a day."  
  
To Rodney's surprise, John picked up a book off Rodney's desk chair, spun it around and sat with his feet propped up on the foot of the bed. The book was held in his lap, as if he planned to read it.  
  
"Staying to make sure I don't hurt myself, Major?" Rodney's comment didn't have the bite he'd hoped and part of him was glad. He was too tired right now to think too much about it. There was nothing left to keep him going but sheer willpower and that too was fading.  
  
"Exactly." That sly little grin curled the major's lips. "Now sleep, Rodney, you'll need it so we can put this city back together." There was a warmth in the words that even Rodney's exhaustion-fogged mind noticed.  
  
"Sleep. Yes. Right. I'll, ah, just be getting to that, then." Rodney wondered if he would even be able to fall asleep. He still saw Gall's aging face every time he closed his eyes. First he turned his back to the major, not wanting the other man to see anything that might cloud his face as he slept. It wasn't how he normally slept, however and Rodney reluctantly turned to his other side, keeping his eyes shut. How he managed it he didn't know, probably exhaustion, but Rodney eventually slept.  
  
*  
**  
*  
  
John sat quietly, watching until Rodney was asleep. He'd come here expecting at least a black eye for his troubles. If Rodney hadn't already been at the breaking point, it had been John's intent to push him to it – get this over now instead of letting things fester. Even so, Rodney throwing Sumner's death back in his face had hurt more than the bullet wound in his arm or his cracked ribs. He'd had to put himself on automatic after Rodney ran for the bathroom. While Rodney was throwing up, John had forced his own anger at Sumner's death and at Rodney down deep so he could do what he had to in order to fix his friend. John himself was only awake by virtue of the fact that he'd allowed himself to nap on the return trip. Twenty minutes could do wonders for some people and John was blessed with the power-napping gene.  
  
This wasn't the first time Rodney had encountered death in the field, but John had seen the signs of an impending breakdown even as Rodney emptied two clips into the Wraith. The very fact that Rodney had arrived had told John that Gall was dead – and logic had told him how.  
  
Unaware of Gall's observations, John had also seen a change in McKay since their arrival in Atlantis. It was one thing to walk into a life sucking energy cloud with an invulnerable shield that had already survived being punched, shot, and thrown off a balcony. It was quite another to knowingly, and with no protection or plan at all, draw the attention of a very sturdy Wraith off of someone else. He would have expected it from Ford or Teyla, who were both trained to think in a certain manner and both skilled in hand-to-hand combat. Rodney was a scientist, not trained to think in combat terms. It was a risky move Rodney had made and it had paid off. John didn't want to think of what would have happened if it hadn't.  
  
He watched Rodney sleep for a while, seeing the relaxed set of his face before his mind began to dream. If he had fallen for a calmer, more tactful Rodney, the other man's words about Sumner might have fractured any hope of continued friendship, let alone anything more. As it was, Rodney's general anger was part of daily life for them and John liked it. It meant Rodney was being Rodney.  
  
John remembered the trip back, the discussion with Ford to convince the young Lieutenant that it was better that he and Rodney be alone. Ford had seen Gall's body, and Rodney's state, and reluctantly agreed. He did insist that the second jumper stay within close range, in case John needed assistance.  
  
In the jumper, John had seated himself on the right hand bench in the rear hatch and had been able to watch Rodney fly the jumper as he sorted through all the disheveled boxes and their contents. He could see the hard, hollow look on Rodney's face, something outside and apart from determination. It had torn at him to see that look on Rodney's face. John didn't much care for the jargon they used today – a hundred years ago, Rodney would have been described as shell-shocked.  
  
John had hated seeing Rodney – a man he had come to respect, admire, and finally love – looking so cold and severed from everything, including himself. He hadn't been able to see Rodney's eyes, but the set of his jaw and the whiteness of his hands on the controls had been more than enough.  
  
John closed his eyes, remembering Sumner's far, far too old face. Blue eyes begging for a merciful death as his head nodded once. Gall hadn't been that far along. He might well have been able to survive. But John *had* told Rodney to arm him.  
  
Telling Rodney about Afghanistan had been hard, though not nearly as hard as he had expected. The scientist was now the only person in Pegasus who knew about James Halloway. John needed Rodney to know that as horrible as this felt, it was normal. He hoped knowing that John himself had gone through this would help Rodney. For the sake of his team and Atlantis, they needed Dr. McKay around and well and shouting at everyone. For himself, John just needed Rodney whole.  
  
John was well aware that his own motivation was a lot more personal. Thinking about it, Carson might have been a better person to do this. The two men had an established friendship from back on Earth and Carson had also developed a rather Rodney-proof skin.  
  
However, John wanted Rodney to turn to him right now. He wanted – needed – Rodney to know that John was there. Not Carson, not Weir – John. If he could see Rodney through this darkness, maybe they could build something else out of it, something to help them both grieve and recover.  
  
*  
**  
*  
  
"Save the day." Rodney heard those words, saw Gall's exploded head and woke screaming and thrashing, trying to beat the images away.  
  
Strong arms reached for him but Rodney was locked in his nightmare. Fearing the Wraith, he lashed out, but to no avail. He was caught fast and held. As Rodney half-woke from his nightmare he realized the arms weren't a Wraith and the chest he was pressed against was John Sheppard's.  
  
The whispers then were also the major's. "... got you, we're home, you're safe ..."  
  
Rodney found his own arms wrapping around that strong torso, not wanting to let go. Not wanting John to let go. "He did it so I would go to you," he whispered before drifting off to sleep.  
  
*  
**  
*  
  
After his nightmare, Rodney slept through the night, curled up against the major's chest. John only dislodged the man once, so he could get a little more comfortable for the duration. He kept Rodney settled against his chest, quietly soothing the man when his sleep grew troubled, but Rodney didn't wake again that night. The pain in his ribs and arm were inconsequential when compared with helping Rodney.  
  
Rodney awoke slowly, feeling the vastly unfamiliar sensation of another person in his bed. For a moment, he was most embarrassed at the realization that he'd drooled a little on whoever it was. Then the night before came rushing back and he remembered throwing up, the major coming to his room, his anger and bringing up Sumner's death. The story about Afghanistan, being held after a nightmare. Moving very slowly, Rodney lifted his eyes, turning his head only enough to see John's face, the major sleeping propped against the wall at the head of Rodney's bed.  
  
As if sensing the movement, John's eyes fluttered open, looking sleepy. Then that sly smile appeared again. "Morning," he said softly. "Sleep alright?"  
  
"Uhm, I ... yeah, actually, thank you." Get up, now, McKay, Rodney told himself. However, his body enjoyed where it was thank you very much. John's arms were still lightly wrapped around him, and didn't move now that he was awake. "So, what did you want, last night?" Rodney tried to sit up, but John's arm was too heavy so he stayed put for the moment. The major didn't seem to mind.  
  
"After what happened with Gall, I wanted to be there in case you needed someone."  
  
Rodney's brow furrowed, suspecting there was something that the major wasn't saying. Or more - that he'd said everything in plain English, just not a plain English that Rodney understood. He realized he was a little disappointed. "So, it was a sort of ..." He searched for the right words. "... a commander thing, making sure your team is all intact. One for all and all for one?" If there had been a hope of more, Rodney had no doubt screwed it up by throwing Sumner's death back in John's face.  
  
"Kinda like that, yeah." John's voice had that slow drawl that Rodney loved and hated in turn.  
  
"Only kind of?" Rodney's eyes narrowed, still not certain what John was saying or if there was anything he was saying that Rodney wasn't grasping.  
  
"*I* wanted to be here in case you needed someone, Rodney." John's hand moved slowly against Rodney's back, his residual embrace from soothing Rodney's nightmare becoming something wholly new and far more intimate.  
  
"Oh." Rodney sat up suddenly, not sure he was grasping the scope of what John was implying. He wasn't even certain he was grasping properly what John was implying at all. "I, uhm ... What?" Rodney gave John his most baffled look, unintentionally admitting he didn't know the entirety of what was going on. John folded his arms over his chest, watching Rodney flounder for a moment or two, his sly little smile softer now, more intimate. "Stop that." Rodney's eyes narrowed. "Don't give me that ... that look."  
  
Rodney almost felt himself squirming under John's gaze. He knew he'd just keep talking as long as John sat there looking at him like that – smirking. He searched for some way to stop talking, or at least to stop talking about the previous evening. Finally his eyes fell on the small clock on his bedside table. "We'll be late for the debriefing," he groused and stood, a flurry of activity as he dug out fresh clothes and got his toiletries ready. It distracted him for a moment, but he saw John still sitting – sprawled – on his bed, he stopped short of tugging off his shirt. "Still here, Major?" The moment was gone and Rodney didn't want to think about it. He preferred to retreat into his own scientific world, not clutter it up with emotions half-guessed but fully felt.  
  
"Yep. One advantage to fatigues, Rodney, I can wear 'em for days and no one can tell. The sonic showers help with that, since they clean clothes, too." Rodney eyed the major critically and wondered if John was being flippant for the sake of returning to some semblance of normalcy, or if he was just being a smartass. When it became clear Rodney wasn't moving until John left, the major stood and moved towards the door. "See you after the briefing, Rodney?" He asked, pausing before departing.  
  
"Yes, yes. Now please excuse me, I need to get ready, not everyone gets to wear the same clothes for a week." Rodney turned away as if to change, though he only stripped off his shirt once the door hissed closed.  
  
*  
**  
*  
  
Rodney had managed to avoid Sheppard for a full week, in spite of John's best efforts. The closest call had been just after the memorial service. Rodney had said a few words and stayed just long enough to be polite. As soon as he had seen John approach he had made a break for it, then locked himself in his labs for the rest of the day.  
  
Rodney knew he'd need to apologize for what he had said about Sumner, but he wasn't ready yet. He never let himself be alone with the man, spending all his time in the labs. He even voluntarily assigned himself a task with Kavanagh, knowing the self-important man would stay as long as Rodney did and thereby not leave him alone.  
  
About a week after Gall's death, Rodney was awakened by his door chiming over and over. His radio stayed silent so the visit was personal and Rodney fully intended to ignore it. When it wouldn't stop, and the pillow didn't muffle it enough, he called for the person to enter. Lean frame, gun holster even in the heart of the city, wild hair. The shadows of night hid the smirk but Rodney could tell it was there. It always was. "What do you want, Major?" he asked, his voice raspy from fading sleep as he sat up.  
  
"We never finished our conversation. I have to admit I'm a little insulted." John's eyebrows scrunched into the skeptical puppy dog look, as Rodney had heard some of the ladies call it. "Preferring Kavanagh's company to mine?"  
  
"What's left to talk about? I'm over my little ... thing." Like hell. He still had nightmares, almost every night since Gall had died. "If you want an apology for what I said about Colonel Sumner, you have it. Now will you please let me get back to sleep?"  
  
"We both know that's not why I'm here," John moved to the foot of the bed, settling down. "What happened that night wasn't just because of Gall." John wondered if Rodney would figure out just what he was talking about, but for all his PhD's the man was still in grade school as far as relationships were concerned.  
  
"Yes-yes-yes it was. I understand, Major, it's just a part of ... of team building. You needed to make sure I was fine, and I am, so ..." The clear intention was for John to leave now, thank you, so Rodney could get back to screaming himself to sleep. He knew what John meant, but he didn't want to believe it. He didn't want to let himself think that he was worth John risking his career.  
  
When John just sat there, looking at Rodney, Rodney did his best to keep from babbling. "It doesn't have to be anything more than that," he said carefully, finally meeting John's eyes. The look tried to tell John he didn't want to progress it, knowing what John had riding if things went where the major was steering them.  
  
"Yeah, it does." John decided to take things in hand and leaned over, brushing a kiss against Rodney's lips that made his own feelings for the trembling scientist very clear indeed.  
  
Rodney drew back, blue eyes alight with hope and fear and a little bit of wonder. After a moment, his lips quirked into that 'new toy! shiny new toy!' smile that John loved so much. Rodney wondered if he was still asleep – if he'd totally snapped and slipped into a fantasy world. He held still for a long, long moment as he tried to ascertain if this was real. He didn't deserve this – not after what he'd done, what he'd said. "John."  
  
"That's my name," he purred and he leaned in for another kiss, surprised when Rodney pulled back.  
  
Rodney had said it once, but he needed to say it again, more clearly so John knew it wasn't a throwaway apology. "I am sorry for what I said about Sumner. I was out of line, and upset, and-" Anything else was stopped by another light kiss from John.  
  
"Forgiven," John said with a smile – and it was. He had already forgiven Rodney for it even before he'd said a word about it. He still blamed himself for Sumner's death and couldn't very well be angry at Rodney for it, too. He lay a hand on the side of Rodney's face moved in, tasting Rodney's lips again.  
  
They moved together, Rodney laying back, John moving over him. They spent a long time like that, just kissing and touching. They said nothing, but spoke with tongues and hands and bodies. They had both wanted this so much for so long that neither was going to question it now.  
  
With John leading the way gently, they slowly undressed. Rodney's fingers teased John's thigh as he removed the holster. John's fingers tickled gently as he pushed Rodney's shirt up and off, sliding his hands over the scientists' body, feeling the growing muscle under the shrinking softness and loving it.  
  
They slowly explored each other, and John learned that Rodney was as intent in this as he was in anything else. There was a slight edge of inexperience, but Rodney more than made up for it with intensity, careful experimentation and impassioned blue eyes. Fingers that trembled in fear at reloading a 9 mil seemed far steadier when finding all the places that made John moan and arch up. Years of working on devices of all sizes had given Rodney's fingers a dexterity that he now applied to making John writhe under him. His fast moving lips and tongue brought John to the edge, so close it hurt. Then they drew him back, not yet pushing him over. Rodney wanted more, he wanted John to open him, to own and claim him. He whispered as much into John's ear as he sprawled over the man, hot, sweat-slicked bodies pressed together.  
  
At this, John shifted from gentle, almost submissive lover to ruthless warrior. Rolling Rodney onto his back, he began his campaign to conquer and invade. He was never rough, but he gave no quarter. John's mouth and hands were merciless in exploiting Rodney's every weakness, doing their best to torment, wanting to draw moans and cries from the man beneath him. He assaulted Rodney's senses with the same cunning and resourcefulness he'd used against the Wraith. He tricked, gently deceived and kept Rodney off guard and breathing heavily, never knowing what would happen next or where the next assault would be.  
  
Once Rodney's defences were broken down, the invasion began. John was slow, his moves carefully considered as he relaxed Rodney first with lips and tongue, then with fingers. Like a general wishing to occupy a long-desired fortress John was careful not to damage, not to harm, leaving everything intact and safe. Rodney moaned as the first finger slid into his already relaxed and boneless body. There was a ghost of what might have been pain, but John's warm kisses and strong touches and sheer presence were enough to keep Rodney's mind off it. He almost didn't realize how much John must have stretched him until his legs were gently spread even wider as John settled his hips between them. Fingers slowly continued to work inside him and Rodney met his lover's eyes, surprised at what he saw. John was waiting for his permission, wanting for Rodney to say it was okay, to allow this final intimacy.  
  
"Please, John." The breathy pleas on kiss-swollen lips and in his blue, love-darkened eyes were what John needed.  
  
Their gasps blended into a single quiet sound as John settled in deeply, letting Rodney feel his full length as their bodies joined. Their breath mingled as they traded oh-so-light kisses.  
  
Neither really knew who moved first, but they began to rock, slowly. John was moving inside Rodney, sending pleasure dancing up the man's body. The break came when John shifted just enough to make Rodney cry out in exquisite pleasure, his body writhing a little, wanting that again. Wanting John to make him feel that again.  
  
Both bodies were glowing with sweat as John thrust, slowly, trembling with the control. He could see a hunger in Rodney's eyes and he knew it would be okay with him if John let go, rode Rodney full throttle. Which is exactly why he didn't. He knew Rodney would let him, wanted him to, was almost begging him now, which gave him the resolve to take his time.  
  
John needed with a desperation that was painful and foreign to him, to make up for months of loving Rodney and saying nothing. He had to make up for Abrams and for having to watch Gall die. He needed Rodney to feel as deep as anything could be felt, how much John was *there* and how much he cared and needed to be with Rodney. He needed to make this first time last as long as possible, he knew it would never come again. John would never abandon Rodney like that again.  
  
It felt to Rodney like John was inside him for an eternity, and he loved every blessed second. It also felt at the end, like he hadn't been inside him nearly long enough. The driving pressure caught up to both of them and their movements sped up. Rodney was whimpering and gasping, begging for more, for less. Anything to keep him balanced at this point of near-esctasty without being pushed over, not wanting to lose the deepest connection he'd ever felt.  
  
A splash of warmth on his stomach, a telling clench around him, unspeakable bliss on Rodney's face and John let go. His moan joined Rodney's as he lost himself deep inside the other man, their bodies slowly relaxing against the bed and each other.  
  
They lay together for several long moments, catching their breath. Before Rodney could ask, John moved off and out of him slowly. Rising from the bed John calmed any protests with a kiss. As he had a week ago, John tended to the other man. The washcloth was soft on his lover's thighs and John was careful not to let him see the few flecks of blood that had been inevitable.  
  
Rodney was still a little dazed from the lovemaking and the tenderness of being cleaned up after when John came back. His eyes shone as he gazed up at the other man, ignoring the well-explored naked body in favor of those glowing hazel eyes, so intent, so full of something Rodney never hoped to find. Not here. Not from this man.  
  
Without a word, they arranged themselves on the narrow bed, John spooning behind Rodney, hands entwined.  
  
If Rodney's sleep was troubled, it wasn't enough to wake either man, and Rodney got a good night's sleep for the first time since Gall's death.  
  
-fin-

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was one of my first "well done' heavily emotional stories - I'd been writing for years before this, but when I was writing Stargate is the first time I felt I was really writing *good* things.
> 
> I also have a graphic that kind of goes with this episode, you can tell it messed me up a teensy bit.
> 
> http://41.media.tumblr.com/105fd892889c96683c6b468c965b8b07/tumblr_miui44KMgc1s5sws7o1_400.jpg


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